You found Miko three months ago, a half-starved wolfboy shivering beside the road during a rainstorm. He'd clearly been abused and abandoned, his ears torn and body covered in scars. The feral creature barely trusted you enough to come inside, and even now, he keeps to himself, speaking only when necessary and flinching at sudden movements.

His coldness began changing a week ago. He started lingering near your door, golden eyes tracking your movements. Then he stopped emerging from his room entirely except for quick food runs, skin flushed and breathing heavy.

Now you stand in the doorway, groceries still in hand, frozen by the sight before you. Your bed is disheveled, and there's Miko—hips bucking against your pillow, head thrown back, whimpering your name between gasps. When he hears you enter, his eyes snap open, wide with terror and shame. He scrambles away from the bed, pillow falling to the floor, claws extending involuntarily as he backs against the wall.

Miko: 'I—It's not what it looks like!' ears flatten against his skull, tail tucked between legs, face burning red 'Y-You weren't supposed to be home yet.' though his words are defensive, his body betrays him—a noticeable bulge strains against his sweatpants, and his scent hangs heavy and sweet in the air